I want my friend to remember that she, too, has praise left inside her for our God. She, too, can get up. She, too, can stir up amazement and wonder about our God.
Yes, she is loved and God has a good plan for her. I want to help her see that, just like my Bible friend did for me all those years ago.
I will never doubt the power of one woman reaching into the life of another woman with some written whispers of love.
Dear Lord, I’m so thankful for the relationships You’ve placed in my life. Would You help me discern what encouraging words my friend needs to hear today? I want to show her Your love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
97
GETTING PAST MY PAST
Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.
—2 CORINTHIANS 1:3–4
Is there something from your past that haunts you and constantly interrupts your thoughts? s there something from your past that haunts you and constantly interrupts your thoughts?
For many years, that something in my life was my abortion. I walked around in a zombielike state in the months following that decision with a growing hatred for myself at the root of my pain and confusion.
Up until that point, the things that brought hurt into my life were caused by others. But the abortion was a choice I made myself. It seemed like the only answer at the time. The abortion clinic workers assured me that they could take care of this “problem” quickly and easily, so I would never have to think about it again. What a lie.
I kept my secret buried deep within my heart. I was so ashamed, so horrified, so convinced that if anyone ever found out I’d had an abortion, I’d be rejected by all my church friends and deemed a woman unfit to serve God.
My complete healing began when I was finally able to turn my thoughts past my own healing to helping others in the same situation. It was terrifying to think about sharing my story with another person. But then I heard of a young girl our family knew who was in a crisis pregnancy situation. She was planning to have an abortion.
God truly can take even our worst mistakes and somehow bring good from them.
I was faced with a fierce tug of war in my spirit. I knew if she heard my story, she might make a different choice. But what would she think of me? What would others think if they found out? I knew God wanted me to talk to her. So would I trust Him, or would I retreat back into my shame?
With shaking hands, I approached Sydney, intent on extending God’s comfort and compassion. Maybe I could just share a few Bible verses and offer to help her without making myself vulnerable.
But during our time together, it became clear she needed to hear my story. With a cracking voice and tear-filled eyes, I decided to care more about her situation than keeping my secret hidden. I told her the truth of what I’d experienced and prayed she’d make a different choice than I had.
A year after that first meeting, I sat across from Sydney once again. She choked out a whispered, “Thank you,” as she turned and kissed the chubby-cheeked boy in the baby carrier beside her. As soon as she spoke those two life-defining words, tears fell from both of our eyes.
Hers were tears of relief.
Mine were tears of redemption.
Both were wrapped in the hope that God truly can take even our worst mistakes and somehow bring good from them.
God has brought me so far since that first meeting with Sydney. Now I travel to crisis pregnancy events and tell my story in hopes of encouraging people to support their local centers. I also share my story from pulpits all across America, trusting that the many women in the audience will see it is possible to be healed and restored from the tragic mistakes from our past.
But I can’t reach everyone. There are women in your sphere of influence who need to hear your story.
I realize an abortion may not be the pain you’re dealing with, but I also know few of us have escaped very deep hurts.
Will you go? Will you share? Will you allow God to comfort you and then take that comfort to others? This step could help you start your own healing process.
I think you’ll find that you are the one who winds up doubly blessed as you walk out the truth of 2 Corinthians 1:3–4: “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”
Dear Lord, only You can heal my deepest hurts and use the bad in my life for good. I need You more and more each day. Please continue to work in my life and use me as a light to help those You have entrusted to me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
98
PUSHING PAST AWKWARD
Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.
—GALATIANS 1:10
My fancy shoes tentatively stepped onto the red carpet. My consignment-store dress snagged on one of my heels as I took my first step. My face flushed. Not for the first little misstep in front of such a huge crowd but because of the sudden realization of just how disappointed the crowd was. I knew it. They knew it. And it was all so incredibly awkward.
I’d been invited to an awards night for musicians. I was one of just a couple of authors there for one book category. But the main focus of the night was the artistic talent of musicians. My art of stringing words together felt insignificant. Since my words had no beat, they seemed to have no place in the memory of those lining this red carpet.
They had cheered when the vehicle I was riding in pulled up. But as I stepped out, their whoops and hollers quieted. I was a sad disappointment, an unfamiliar face among bright musical stars.
I busied myself fidgeting with my purse and my dress and my cell phone. Awkward does this to us. It makes us fidget. In the midst of trying to comfort what feels so uncomfortable, we just feed the monster. Awkward gorges himself full in those insecure moments.
Appointments and disappointments walk hand in hand.
I’m not a musician. Just as a nonmusician girl feels out of place at a musicians’ awards event, so will a Jesus girl feel out of place in a people-pleasing world.
You will sometimes feel exposed. Fidgety. Out of place. Insecure. And oh-so-incredibly awkward. These feelings aren’t a sign that it’s time to turn back. Or to give in to that people-pleasing desire beating against your fragile resolve. It’s time to say to yourself, I will not let the awkward disappointment of others keep me from my appointments with God.
Do you know what I wanted to do that night on the red carpet? I wanted to get back in that vehicle, go back to the ease of my quiet hotel room, rip off that stupid, fancy dress, and crawl into bed, and pull the covers over my head. I did not want to keep walking that red carpet toward the awards ceremony I was supposed to attend. I did not want to push past that awkward disappointment of the crowd.
But if I was ever going to get where I was supposed to be that night, I was going to have to keep walking forward despite feeling awkward, despite the disappointment of others. And you know what happened once I got inside that awards ceremony? An appointment from God I wouldn’t have ever experienced if I’d turned back.
Once inside I found a bathroom. Partly because I wanted to make sure my dress hadn’t ripped in embarrassing places when my heel got caught. And partly because when you feel terribly awkward and out of place, bathroom stalls are glorious places to regroup.
When I walked in, there was a girl staring at herself in the mirror. I’m not especially inclined to make small talk, so I walked past her and into a stall. When I came out, she was still there. Still staring.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Not really.” At first it was just those two words. But then more. And I realized her heart had been knoc
ked around a bit out on that red carpet too. She was an amazingly talented musician. But her body size had been the topic of one too many hard conversations.
I guess because she didn’t know me, she felt like she could open up to me. I wasn’t in her music world, but I do personally know the pain of weight struggles. I know how thoughtless comments can cut deeply into a heart. And I know what it feels like to step on that scale and feel like a failure.
We talked. We shared. We laughed. And together we gained just a bit more courage. It was an appointment I wouldn’t have experienced if I’d allowed disappointment to scare me away.
Appointments and disappointments walk hand in hand. I had to get past the disappointment of the crowd to receive this appointment from God.
Galatians 1:10 reminds us of why this is so important: “Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.” If we want to be the kind of people God can use anywhere at any time, we must get good at saying no to that resistance inside called awkwardness.
How do we learn to do this? We might think we just need to become more confident. But it goes deeper than that. It’s not a matter of gaining more confidence. It’s a matter of being more certain of our convictions. Confidence is being certain of our abilities. Conviction is being certain of God’s instructions.
I’m not talking about the way we sometimes use the word conviction as a verb: I’m convicted to wear longer shorts or I’m convicted to have more consistent quiet times. The kind of conviction I’m referring to is a noun—a firm, foundational belief.
With a deep conviction that God’s instruction can be trusted, we can learn to graciously push past awkward.
Dear Lord, please grant me the conviction I need to push past awkward. I don’t want to miss any of the appointments You have for me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
99
LIFE-SAVING TRUTH
If your law had not been my delight,
I would have perished in my affliction.
I will never forget your precepts,
for by them you have preserved my life.
—PSALM 119:92–93
I stood on the edge of the pool. I looked over at my sister who was maybe four or five at the time. She was splashing on the steps of the shallow end.
I’m done with the shallow end, I thought. I’m nine years old. I’m very grown and old enough to jump into the deep end.
I jumped. The cold water enveloped me. I let my body fall all the way until my toes touched the bottom, and I pushed myself back above water. It was exhilarating.
Each hot day when we showed up at the pool, we walked to our respective places. Me to the edge of the deep end with an ever-growing, brave heart. My sister to the stairs in the shallow end. But as the summer went on, I wondered, Could I? Should I? Bring her out here to the deep?
One day it occurred to me I could let her get on my back and half walk, half bounce down that slope between the shallow and the deep. I could go slowly. And if that next step deeper freaked her out, I could simply back up to where she felt comfortable.
I swam to the shallow end and unveiled my plan as if I were giving my sister the greatest gift one human could bestow on another.
Surprisingly, she was hesitant. It took great convincing on my part and lots of promises not to go any farther than where she felt safe.
Finally, she got on my back and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I walked slowly to the slope. One baby step down. Two steps. Three.
At the third step, I slipped.
We both went under very suddenly. My sister’s hands slipped from my shoulders to my throat. It was as if she believed the only way she could be saved was to hold my throat with an increasingly intense amount of strength. Her grip tightened to the point where even when I finally pushed up above the surface, no air could get in. My mind got foggy very quickly, and suddenly I couldn’t figure out which way to go to find safety. I became less and less sure of most things around me, but absolutely sure about one thing. I was drowning.
Here’s the craziest part of the story. I can’t remember how we were saved. I know we were. My sister and I are both alive today. But I can’t remember the rest of the story.
Maybe it’s because I’m supposed to have the richest memories of that feeling of panic. And the realization that panic never helps save anyone.
You know where I see this drowning without water and a subsequent panicked response most often? A woman’s insecurities.
I guarantee you’ve felt the choking effects of insecurity even if you don’t call it that.
You’re not as talented or smart or experienced as she is.
Protect yourself and your dignity. Don’t dare try this new venture.
If only you were as organized or intentional or creative as they are, then maybe you could accomplish this. But the reality is, you’re not.
You know this is never going to work, right?
How do I know you feel these things? Because I’ve experienced them myself.
Just like in that pool all those years ago, I can go from standing securely with my head above water to slipping down a slope with seemingly nothing to grab hold of. Then the insecurity, always kind of present on my shoulder, slips into a death grip around my throat.
My insecurities grip to the point where nothing life giving can get in. I forget truth. I don’t even want to go to church. My mind gets foggy very quickly, and suddenly I can’t figure out which way to go to find safety.
I’m drowning.
That’s the thing about insecurity. When it grips us, the very thing we need most—truth—is the very thing we have a hard time grasping. I can be close to truth but still be drowning with my insecurities. I can have truth sitting on my nightstand. I can have it preached to me on Sundays. But grasping it and standing on it and letting it shift my thinking away from panic—that’s something that requires truth to be more than just close.
That requires truth to be inside me, guiding me, rewiring my thinking, and whispering, “Safety is right here. Insecurity will stop choking you when you remove its grip. Insecurity only has power over you when you allow it control over your thoughts.”
The minute we receive Jesus to be the Lord of our lives, our limited potential can turn into exponential growth.
And as we delight in the truth of God’s Word and live out the truth of God’s Word, it truly becomes a lifeline to our souls. Something we see beautifully spelled out in our key verse: “If your law had not been my delight, I would have perished in my affliction. I will never forget your precepts, for by them you have preserved my life” (Psalm 119:92–93).
Indeed, we are limited in and of ourselves. But the minute we receive Jesus to be the Lord of our lives, our limited potential can turn into exponential growth. He is alive in us. He gives us freedom from our dead lives and the power to walk in a new life—a resurrected life.
I want to weave myself into your story. I’m standing in the shallow end. I’m holding tightly on to an immovable bar of truth with one hand—and with the other, I’m reaching toward you.
Grab hold. Come back from the sinking place. And from the deepest place of your soul, catch your breath.
Dear Lord, my insecurities are small things compared to Your truth. But they feel so big and powerful when they have a grip on me! Please help me grasp Your truth and let it change me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
100
CALLED TO FREEDOM
He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.
—PHILIPPIANS 1:6
Labels are awful. They imprison us in categories that are hard to escape. Maybe you are familiar with labels too . . .
I am a wreck.
I am a people pleaser.
I am unglued.
I am an insecure mess.
And the list goes on.
Take my struggle with organizat
ion. Every day for months, I walked in and out of my messy closet thinking, Uggghhhh! Why am I so disorganized? Why can’t I have a closet like so-and-so? I don’t think she ever struggles with keeping things tidy. I’m just a mess.
I labeled myself as a mess and then resigned myself to forever being a mess.
Some prisons don’t require bars to keep people locked inside. All it takes is their perception that they belong there. A soul who believes she can’t leave . . . doesn’t.
I found my way out in an unexpected place.
I don’t often visit museums. However, I’d read some fascinating facts about the David by Michelangelo and made it my mission to go and see the original at the Accademia Gallery in Florence, Italy.
Sources say the artist never left his David. For more than two years he worked on and slept beside the six-ton slab of marble whose subject called to him from inside the unchiseled places. When at last the seventeen-foot David emerged, Michelangelo is reported to have said, “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” When asked how he made his statue, Michelangelo is reported to have said, “It is easy. You just chip away the stone that doesn’t look like David.”
After a two-hour wait in a long line of tourists, I was about to see it for myself. I stopped just inside the narrow corridor, still thirty feet from the David. This was not where everyone else wanted to stop and so I caused a bit of a traffic jam.
I understood why everyone rushed past me. Why would anyone stop to stare at the unfinished sculptures lining the hallway? Why attend to blocks of stone with roughly hewn, half-completed figures when sculpted perfection stands just a short walk away? Who would stop?
A woman captivated by seeing her interior reality vividly depicted in stone, that’s who. I stood in the shadow of one of the unfinished sculptures that’s part of this collection aptly titled, Prisoners. And I stared.
Some prisons don’t require bars to keep people locked inside. All it takes is their perception that they belong there.
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